


The Center of the Universe

by adventuresofmeghatron



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cute and Cozy, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gift Giving, Holidays, New Year's Eve, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuresofmeghatron/pseuds/adventuresofmeghatron
Summary: MacCready might have his holidays mixed up; gift-giving is a Christmas thing. But he’s got one last present for his partner in crime before the year is out.
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Sole Survivor
Comments: 16
Kudos: 17





	The Center of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GingerBreton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/gifts).



> A little gift fic for the lovely GingerBreton’s birthday, featuring her OC, Ivy Kendrick, and everyone’s favorite former Gunner. Katie, you’ve been such a supportive and wonderful friend over the course of this really trying year. I hope this brings smiles and warm fuzzy feelings. 
> 
> This shouldn’t cause any issue to read in any order with GingerBreton’s own fics featuring Mac x Ivy, but I’d highly encourage you to check them all out! It also pairs well with “Wide Awake” in particular. Katie’s got a wealth of lovely writing here on AO3 and art on her Tumblr, @third-rail-vip. Please shower her with love!!
> 
> Set vaguely in the future of MacCready and Ivy’s established relationship, on New Year’s Eve. Features mild alcohol use. No other warnings apply.

“Fuhh-- _frick!_ ”

MacCready grips the wooden railing just in time to catch himself. Once he’s sure his feet have steadied on the frigid ground, he draws his hand away, wincing at the fresh splinters in his palm. Sheepishly, he peers over his shoulder. The light flush on his cheeks recedes beneath the bite of a chilly breeze. Good. No one caught his near-slip on the ice that had earned a near-slip of his tongue.

Soft laughter like a lazy snowfall reaches his ears. That rosy color creeps its way along his neck again. Well, _almost_ no one. A smile tugs on the edge of his lips. If all it takes is making a fool of himself...

Worth it.

Carefully, this time, MacCready picks his way down the snowy slope. Sure, they’d done their best to salt the steps winding down from the cottage to the docks poking from the shore. But Spectacle Island is stupid slippery despite of their best efforts. 

Of all the places for MacCready and Ivy to put down a doormat and pick hammers and nails to build a life for themselves, this might not have been his first pick. The mirelurks don’t mind the cold. Found that one out that hard way. The mirelurks found out the hard way that they’d best mind _Ivy._

Across the frozen bay, the sun dips down behind the Boston cityscape. Fiery hues scorch the billowy clouds that hang overhead. The ice on the water mirrors back a pastel echo of the vibrant colors above.

Ivy studies the scene with her legs dangled over the dock while her hands work with practiced care to capture those fleeting colors. MacCready wonders if she knows she’s already caught them all in the red-orange glow they leave against the stark white of her hair. The burn of embarrassment on MacCready’s cheeks gives way to an easy smirk.

Yeah, Spectacle Island’s got its pitfalls. Can’t rival that view, though. 

“Shi-- _shoot_ .” Suddenly, the ground squirms away from him. MacCready staggers down the last few steps before bumping into the end post of the dock. Panting hard, he gathers his pride, and his footing. When that teasing laughter washes over him again, he finds his smile, too.  
  
“Somethin’ funny, angel?”

A playful lift twitches on Ivy’s lips while she gives him a critical once-over. “There’s some mercenary stumbling around like he’s drunk. Must have started celebrating early. He keeps making these _eyes_ at me.”

MacCready stoops to a seat beside her and leans a kiss behind her ear. “Can’t blame the guy.”  
  
“Hmm,” Ivy hums skeptically. “Might not fall so much if he looked where he’s going. Are you okay?” She peers up at him earnestly, searching his face with a crease of worry wrinkling her own.  
  
“I’ll be better once I know who this schmuck is that’s gawking at you,” he winks. “Might need to set him straight.”  
  
There’s a spark of laughter lighting up the brown eyes underneath those dark lashes. But she prods further, unconvinced. “Bobby?”  
  
“I’m fine, Ives,” he relents, punctuating the sentiment with the press of his lips to the crown of her head. 

When he pulls back, his eyes fall to her fingers. They’re bare against the bitter cold, peppered in pastels that match the shades of the sky and the page in front of her. Any other time, he’d marvel at the angle of her hands as they worked life and love and color into something bare and empty. But now, he’s preoccupied by the bluish hue tinting her skin. Fingerless gloves are well and good in summer, but hardly suffice on the winter edge of December.  
  
MacCready peels her hands away from the page to weave her icy fingers through his. He buries his own shiver beneath his deepening frown. “You trying to turn back into a popsicle? I’m not on board with that, angel.”  
  
Ivy arches a brow. “Says the man without his mittens. Or adorable earmuffs. The fluff on the ends matches your cheeks when you blush, you know.”

MacCready knows there’s a hint of that heat burning on his face as they speak. But nevermind that. It took time and practice, sure, but he’s earned himself at least _some_ invulnerability to Ivy’s more conspicuous distraction tactics. “Too cold out here for bare hands like that,” he insists.

A sly smirk creeps over his cheeks. Slowly, with his eyes settled over hers, MacCready brings her hands to his lips and lays a delicate, deliberate kiss to each chilled fingertip. For a second, Ivy’s eyelids flutter. His smirk spreads while he watches. 

But then, the glimmer in her eyes sharpens. She shakes with snickers. MacCready raises a questioning brow.  
  
“You have pink and purple _all_ over your face,” she says, grinning. She wiggles her fingertips, now clean and pristine. MacCready rolls his eyes.  
  
“Worth it,” he shrugs cheekily, tucking her hands back to her lap. For now, at least. He plans to be kissing her with that mouth at midnight. Better to clean up before then, so as not to have a wrench in his plans.  
  
The thought draws his anxious eyes to the clouds covering the sky. Sure, the sunset managed to seep through. But without a change in the winds, fireworks from the Castle probably won’t. That was their plan: to keep each other cozy until midnight, hobble back outside on this island-turned-icebox, and watch the show from afar. Not gonna be much of a show if they can’t see it.

So, if the clouds are foiling _their_ plans...tonight might be the time to pull out _his_.

There’s a strange, slippery nervousness turning in his chest, like he’s lost his footing all over again. This is Ivy. _His_ Ivy. It’s not like she’d leave him to a hard fall if he really missed his mark. She’d be kind and gentle and soften the blow for his pride.  
  
It felt stupid, seeing it put together in the daylight. Like any old piece of pre-war crap you’d find in a ruined building or a wasteland junkyard. But then, he couldn’t find anything like it at Myrna’s stall in Diamond City. Nothing coming in off the caravans through Bunker Hill, either. So, MacCready had set about making the thing himself. Or rather, running favors for a few select others who could make it for him and could be trusted to keep it secret. 

It took Garvey gathering supplies from an old schoolhouse, Sturges fiddling for hours with wires, Deacon digging up old astronomy textbooks, and MacCready’s steady sniper hands to string together this thing that looked like holes poked into paper. Not to mention Deacon’s intermittent feed of nonsense nearly guiding him astray. Sure, MacCready studied stars well enough as a kid. But how was he supposed to know there’s no “Ursa Ludicrous” or “Bootius Maximus” next to “Draco the Dragon”?  
  
At least they wouldn’t be looking at the thing during the _day_ . Then again, MacCready hadn’t been around when they’d tested it at night, either. Only Deacon and Struges were witness to that. He meant to test it himself, before getting her hopes up that it would be anything _other_ than a bunch of haphazardly assembled salvage.

MacCready sighs, chewing at the inside of his cheek. It didn’t _have_ to be tonight. But then, without the fireworks, he wouldn’t get to see that glow reflecting back on her face, lit up like every old world holiday she loved and longed for. 

No, he’d have to try for tonight and cross his fingers Deacon and Sturges had told him the truth. And that it didn’t get damaged in transit. And that she actually _liked_ the thing.

“Well,” Ivy shifts, settling back to her work. “I’m stealing the rest of this sunlight. But you can steal _me_ later.”  
  
The tightness in MacCready’s chest eases beneath the quick kiss she leaves against his stubble. “I like the sounds of that, angel.”

\--------

  
  
Night falls and the vibrant stains of sunset fade from the underbelly of the lingering clouds. In their stead, criss-crossed across the entirety of the island, strings of lights flicker to life. The bulbs leave soft splotches of red and orange and blue and yellow against the glittering snowbanks. Wind whistles past the cottage, rattling the windows with a chill MacCready and Ivy have foregone in favor of a crackling hearth.

An evergreen keeps them company, wound with tinsel and standing prim and proud in the corner. The mistletoe still guards the hallway, too. Christmas is a week behind them, but neither has so much as suggested taking the decorations down. It’ll take a full day to pull down all the lights. No way it could be worth it, with the cold. The tree isn’t bothering anyone. 

As for the mistletoe, well, that will be the last to go. It’s doing good work, after all. MacCready’s never known a better wingman.

The empty bottle of wasteland “champagne” and the blanket sprawled beside the fire have warmed them well enough. But, just to be sure, MacCready wraps Ives a little closer. Her head falls heavy against his chest. A stray strand of snowy hair tickles at his nose while Ivy stifles a wide yawn.

“You petering out on me already?” MacCready teases.

Ivy hums softly. “No way. I’ve spent too many New Year’s Eves behind a bar. I’m not wasting this one by falling asleep before the fireworks start.” Despite her declaration, she’s pulled into another yawn like a relentless tide.

MacCready laughs softly. It probably didn’t help that their wasteland “champagne” was really fortified wine with a splash of Nuka Cola to make it fizzy. Not like what they used to drink in the old days. But then, Ivy said she never did much drinking on New Year’s herself. Always stuck serving others. 

“All right, you,” he says. “We’re keeping you up until midnight.”  
  
“Hm?” Ivy mumbles groggily, muffling another yawn with a hand over her mouth. “I’m awake!”

“Sure,” MacCready snickers.

“Hm,” Ivy drawls thoughtfully, tracing feather-light fingers down his chest. He recognizes the sly smile on her face. It goes hand and hand with the heat of alcohol on her cheeks. A sultry whisper sinks into his ear. “I could think of something that might wake us up.”  
  
It’s a good thing that practiced invulnerability is kicking in, or else he might lose his resolve. Not like he hadn’t _thought_ of that. MacCready shrugs from the blanket, tugging her along with arms around her waist. He leans down, hovering a breath from Ivy’s parted lips. Ivy’s eyes flutter shut while she leans in expectantly. Instead, he gives her back a husky whisper.

“Angel, we start taking clothes off, I am _not_ putting them back on.”

Ivy eyes flutter open, gleaming cheekily. “ _Ever?_ ” 

“You know what I mean,” he snickers. “Thought you wanted to see the fireworks? It's fricken cold out there.”  
  
“Yeah,” she murmurs, almost mournfully. “If we can even _see_ the fireworks. I swear, it’s clear skies every other day of the year.”

MacCready tilts her chin with a gentle brush of his thumb. “Look on the bright side: at least we don’t have to go back out into that freezing nonsense, right?”

Ivy offers a half-hearted smile in return. MacCready rubs her shoulders gently. An anxious twist tugs in his chest.

All right. Fireworks are a no go. New plan. _His plan._ MacCready swallows a sudden spark of nerves.

“Hey, I, uh, got you something.”

Ivy’s head tilts quizzically.

“It’s not much,” MacCready adds quickly. “It’s, uh, well, I, uh---”

“Bobby,” she raises a playful brow. “Have you gotten your holidays crossed?”

MacCready rubs at the hair along the back of his neck. “No, yeah, I know gifts isn’t really a New Year’s thing, but I--”

“I didn’t get you anything,” Ivy frowns, deflated.  
  
“No, no, angel, that’s fine,” he laughs, tugging her tight to his chest. “I just, uh, heard about it and thought maybe...it’s really nothing. Just a piece of junk with a bunch of holes in it.”

A glimmer of laughter flickers through her eyes. MacCready winces.

“Well, it’s not junk, it just sort of _looks_ like it is.”

Gentle laughter rumbles against his ribs. MacCready peers back at her sheepishly. 

“Do you trust me?”

“ _Of course_ I trust you,” Ivy chuckles. “You’re being awfully mysterious about a so-called piece of junk.”

“With holes in it,” he murmurs to his feet.

“Hey,” Ivy cradles the clenched edges of his jaw between her palms. “If it’s from you, it’s special.”

The corner of MacCready’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “All right. Close your eyes.”

Ivy obliges. Her grin leaves a rosy glow on her cheeks that’s got nothing to do with the alcohol. MacCready feels the nerves coiled taut his chest unfurl and soften. Yeah. Okay, maybe he made this a bigger deal than it needed to be. 

MacCready weaves his fingers through hers, tugging her from the amber halo of light spilling from the fireplace, to the shadows seeping down the hall. Heleads the way by the flame of his lighter. They come to a stop in the darkness of their unlit bedroom. 

“No peeking,” he murmurs softly, with a softer kiss upon her temple. MacCready withdraws long enough to retrieve the contraption from beneath the bed, where he’d stashed it away. Not the most original of hiding places, but suitable enough to conceal it since Christmas company had come and gone. Deacon had stowed it amongst the other gifts. MacCready swallows.

He sets the repurposed globe on a stool, and tugs it into place at the heart of the room. For good measure, he yanks the curtains shut a little tighter to stem the shine of Christmas lights leaking through.

“Bobby?” Ivy rocks restlessly on her heels.

“Not just yet,” he murmurs gently. “Just one second.” 

MacCready holds his breath, and fiddles the plug into the outlet. _There._

It _worked._ MacCready’s exhale rushes out of him, along with the waves of worry. He drifts towards Ivy with a sudden weightlessness. Tenderly, he takes her hands.

“Ives,” he whispers, as if this moment were so fragile, he might break it. “Open your eyes.”

They flutter open slowly, then go wide. She turns about, gaze trailing from the glowing globe set up on the stool in the center of the room, to the twinkling stars glittering against the walls and ceiling. Countless sparkling pinpricks of light cast a silver-blue shimmer over their bedroom. A whole galaxy, within these walls they built themselves. Well, just a slice of it. One he knows she recognizes when the tears start to well in her eyes.

“That’s Ursa Major, Ursa Minor,” she murmurs, breathless. “Bobby, this is…”

“Andromeda,” he murmurs, steering her to face south, slinking hands from her shoulders to her sides. He lets his chin rest gently on her head, winding his fingers back through hers.

She names them all with ease, just like she pointed them out that night he couldn’t seem to sleep. The night he wandered his way to her, and they made their way to an open rooftop. The night he found himself looking at her a little longer, and longing just a little more. 

“I did teach you something after all,” Ivy turns, laying her head and the whisper against his chest as she stares, spellbound, at the stars glittering around them.

“More than you know,” MacCready answers through the sudden thickness in his throat.

A resounding boom shudders through the floorboards and echoes in his ribcage. Fireworks must have started over at the Castle. The tell-tale thunder of the New Year rumbles through the clouds. Maybe they’re flashing with brilliant lights. They might catch a glimpse of if they ran outside to see.

Maybe. But those were old plans. When the world doesn’t cooperate, MacCready and Ivy make new ones. 

The clouds can hide the heavens all they want. They made their own heaven, right here, right in place where Ivy’s lips press against his, the place where his arms draw her in like gravity, and the parallel pulse of their heartbeats is the center of the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> I did some rudimentary research on astronomy for this one, but if I've gotten some detail massively wrong, well...woops, hehe. Kindly suspend disbelief? :D
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed, check out my other work, or come say hi to me @adventuresofmeghatron on Tumblr.
> 
> Happy New Year! :)


End file.
